Old Town
by hawkstout
Summary: Tim/Dick, Jason/Dick, AU: Tim Drake is a detective in the GPD, Old Town Precinct. He's partnered with Old Town's Golden Boy Dick Grayson and they become a good team. Tim starts to realize he wants to be more than just Dick's partner, but Dick's family is embroiled in deadly affairs and his dead partner's ghost haunts him in the form of the vigilante known as Red Hood.
1. Qualified

Notes:

Pairings: Tim/Dick, Jason/Dick, Past Dick/Roy, Past Dick/Koriand'r

Police Alternate Universe

* * *

**Chapter One: Qualified**

* * *

Being qualified as a detective in the Gotham PD wasn't hard for Tim Drake. It was getting posted that was the real problem. He was ten years too young when all was said and done. He might have dangled in a purgatory between officer and detective if it wasn't for Bruce Wayne and a posting at the Old Town District.

The building used to be an old bank that was remodeled with state of the art (in the 70s) cop shop stuff. It was an ugly building and didn't give the rookie detective much hope. The inside was worse. It was dim, a few of the light bulbs needed replacing. There were a grand total of two computers. One of them had an out of order sign. Another out of order sign was pinned to the men's bathroom with Since '79 scrawled in sharpie underneath. The cherry on top was the bucket in the middle of the room with an ongoing leaky drip.

Tim had memorized where he was supposed to go and who he was supposed to talk to, but he glanced down at the piece of paper in his pocket anyway.

"Tim Drake?"

Tim's head shot up. He turned. A tall man with a stony face was behind him. He had been perfectly invisible until he made himself known.

"Yes! Yes." Tim said trying to slow his startled heartbeat.

"I'm the Captain, Bruce Wayne." Wayne offered a hand but didn't smile. His eyes seemed to penetrate Tim's very being. It felt like the Captain just learned everything he needed to know about him and he wasn't overly impressed by his docket. Tim shook his hand forcing a polite smile.

"I understand I have you to thank for the position here," Tim ventured.

"You'll learn pretty quickly about Old Town that we don't get many resources and a qualified detective is a qualified detective, green or not. You'll be partnered with Dick Grayson. He'll show you the ropes."

Wayne pointed him to an empty desk. Of course it was the one beside the leaky bucket.

"Thank—" Tim began, but Wayne had already disappeared, "—You… wow."

* * *

Tim wasn't really sure what he was doing here. Grayson—Richard—Dick insisted on treating him to dinner at his place. They had been partnered for two weeks. Dick was … a popular guy at the station. He reminded Tim of the assholes during training. Tim didn't fit in. Tim was too smart and too young—That wasn't to say Dick was an asshole, it was just that assholes associated with him-liked him…everyone liked him. Tim felt so damn out of his element beside the Golden Boy of Old Town. He heard even the Captain had a soft spot for him. The Captain that was quietly terrifying.

Tim mentally sighed. He thought it might be different with Detective in front of his name, but instantly the others had smelt weakness and the hazing had already started. He wouldn't have been overly surprised if Dick knew about it, how could he not? He was Mr. Popular after all.

He didn't even know if Dick had a wife and kids. He had brought wine figuring that was the safest bet but…

The door still hadn't opened.

God, maybe this was just another prank on top of—

He knocked again to avoid thinking it. A few seconds later the door was thrown open. No one was there—wait.

He looked down. A spiky-haired boy of about ten years old with burning eyes and a furious face looked back. The boy studied him.

"-Tt-"

After about five seconds the door slammed shut. Apparently he didn't like what he saw.

"Damian!" He heard Dick's muffled shout from inside the apartment. Quickly the door was opened again and Dick stood there in a worn white apron and a rueful smile.

"Sorry."

In the background the angry little boy, 'Damian' stood with an uncompromising look on his face.

The house had the air of a bachelor's pad. Clothes were strewn all around the place. The sink was filled with dirty dishes. On the coffee table in front of the TV there was some sort of engine motor.

Tim's eyes did the once over without thinking and the answer came back just as fast: Single father.

He… hadn't expected that.

Dick quickly moved out of the way ushering Tim in before the younger detective could change his mind. Dick took his coat and Tim silently handed him the wine.

"Oh," Dick looked apologetically awkward, "Sorry I should have said—"

"Grayson doesn't drink," The child harrumphed, "One glass and he's in bed with the next available redhead."

"Damian…" Dick rolled his eyes, but didn't seem particularly put out by the boy's rudeness, "Damian this is my partner Tim Drake. Tim this is Damian, my little brother."

"Nice to meet you, Damian." Honestly? Tim sucked with kids, but he was willing to put in the effort. Dick was being sincere with the whole dinner thing after all. Tim stuck his hand out toward the little boy. Damian stared at it as if it were filthy.

"Umm. Here on my world we call this gesture a handshake," Tim was trying to be funny. He really had to remember that he wasn't good at that. Damian's face screwed up even more. He looked like he might attack, but then the child glanced towards Dick and seemed to change his mind.

"Pleasure," He said obviously not meaning it. He turned away from the offered hand. "Let's hope you're more durable than the last one."

"Damian!" Now there was sharpness in his partner's tone.

"Sorry," he waved his hand and went to the coffee table apparently determined to ignore both of the adults for as long as possible. Dick slowly grinned at Tim. It seemed he had passed some sort of test.

"Welcome to our humble abode, sorry about the mess, unfortunately I don't get much time to clean and Damian's no help at all."

Damian stuck up his hand and gave a thumbs up.

"Mature Damian," Dick quipped. Well… the kid did look a bit Middle Eastern. Dick took Tim by the shoulder pushing him further inside, "Don't worry about the wine, you won't have to drink alone. I invited a neighbour over and he has a palate for the stuff. I hope that's okay?"

Damian groaned at this announcement.

"Your house. It's completely fine," Tim said with slight bemusement. It was interesting to see Dick off the streets and in such a strangely domestic environment. They had been partnered for two weeks. He watched his partner. Dick was good. He was quick thinking and knew how to talk to witnesses. The problem was they didn't gel well. Tim wanted to absorb and think deeply, he was more quietly manipulative with witnesses and it threw Dick's friendly demeanour off balance. Dick was used to working solo and kept jumping forward when Tim wanted to step back.

"Damian's decided the living room is now a garage so I'm afraid I'll have to sit you at the dinner table while I get things ready—

The smoke alarm went off.

"Shit!" Dick ran to the stove where a pot of something was smoking.

"Way to fail. I said make Crocky Crunch and French toast, but you didn't listen," Damian said over Dick's flurry of curses as he threw the pot in the already overflowing sink running cold water over it.

There was a knock at the door.

"Could you get that?" Dick asked as he continued to manage the burnt food. He could have been talking to either of them, but Damian seemed quite content leaning over the couch and making wise-ass remarks about Dick's cooking skills so Tim decided to lend a hand.

At the door was an older looking—gentleman (that's the first descriptor that came to mind) with graying hair and a mustache. He was holding several bags. Although he didn't smile beyond the twitch of his lips something about him put Tim completely at ease.

"Hello there I'm—Richard what have you done?" The old man (with an English accent) quickly jostled past him to help Dick with his losing battle with what was once dinner. Tim closed the door. He forced himself not to laugh as the old man gently chided Dick on his attempts at making anything edible.

"But I wanted to treat you to dinner for once," Dick said looking like a little boy that just tracked mud through his mother's house. Tim was holding back a smile. He took a seat at the table again.

"Sorry, Alfred this is Tim Drake, my new partner on the force. Tim this is Alfred Pennyworth, he's our neighbour slash guardian angel. He feeds us, we love him."

Damian blew a raspberry.

"Nice to meet you sir," Tim shook his hand.

"And very nice to meet you as well, please just Alfred is fine."

Alfred somehow maneuvered all of them so that Dick, Tim and even Damian were seated at the table while he was at the kitchen making something that smelled much more promising than whatever Dick had been attempting to make. Little by little as the food was made the kitchen somehow got cleaner. Damian didn't seem to like Alfred much (although he didn't seem to like anyone much), however the old man seemed to have some authority over him. Dick and Alfred had an obvious affection for each other. If he hadn't known they were just neighbours Tim would have sworn he was looking at a father or grandfather and his son. He felt a short pang of envy that was quickly overridden when Damian beaned him on the head with a pea. If Dick had to put up with him twenty-four seven he deserved help in the form of Alfred Pennyworth.

It was really … nice. Even with Damian's negative energy. Dick and Alfred were both excellent conversationalists. Alfred had worked as a butler and had the most interesting stories to tell about his former charges. Dick had the strangest jobs before he settled on cop including a bartender, a museum curator and an acrobat.

"An acrobat, really?" Tim felt more loosened up with his third glass of wine in his hands and an excellent fettuccini alfredo in his stomach.

"Sure, when I was a kid and then later on just before I joined the academy," Dick nodded. He got a bit of a faraway look. It wasn't filled with his usual happiness. There was a bit of wistful sadness as well.

"Oh, please don't regale us with the 'I was an acrobat' stories," Damian said with a sour tone. Dick looked thankful at the interruption actually.

"Yeah, there's not much to it anyway," Dick said waving his fork casually. Alfred had a sad look on his face as well. Tim wondered, but didn't ask.

Between the two of them Tim and Alfred had finished most of the wine. He was feeling well buzzed. Around ten Alfred went off after hugging Dick and telling him not so subtly that he should clean up the place. Damian was collapsed on the couch snoring softly. Dick had a huge grin on his face.

"I'm really glad you came," He said softly so as not to wake the sleeping demon.

"I am too," Tim whispered back, "I've been… worried actually."

"Oh?" Dick asked in surprise. He was throwing things back in the fridge every so often pulling things out to make room.

"Yeah, well… we haven't exactly clicked on the job."

"Hah, yeah. Don't worry about that, it'll come," Dick said with no anxiety. "We're still feeling one another out. That's why I invited you over. We need to know each other if we're going to be helping each other and watching each other's backs. I'm used to moving alone and going at my own speed and my old partner before that—he was a hothead so it was always moving quick. You're a deep thinker, I can tell." Dick shrugged, "You're silent for two hours and then suddenly say these thing and I don't know how you've made all these perfect connections in your head, but you have. We'll get the feel of each other. I'll stop jumping from one clue to the next without a pause to take a breath and you'll start thinking out loud and together I think we'll make a great team."

"Yeah…"

"We have to trust each other Tim. We're all we have out there and we're all we have after it's done. Working Homicide isn't the same as walking beat. You're going to see terrible things and those terrible things will have terrible reasons behind them. They'll keep you up at night. You talk to me."

"And you'll talk to me?"

"That's the idea," Dick wrinkled his nose when he pulled a jug of milk out of the fridge. "I'm not good at it, but you'll notice when I need it I think." He looked directly at Tim, "You may not be smooth with witness statements yet, but I can see that you care, that you're affected. You seem to be a guy that notices everything."

_But you're not?_ Tim asked himself. He stared at his partner for a second. The hazing suddenly came back to mind.

Dick shoved the fridge closed with some difficulty.

"You've been having trouble?"

"What?"

"I notice things too," Dick reassured, "But I didn't know who and we don't know each other well so I didn't want to ask and have you shut up on me. Back in the BPD I had a partner. He's gay, the guys knew it. I was just a rookie then and… had a lot of issues to deal with outside the job so I didn't pick up on the shitty stuff these guys, guys that I had to trust with my life, were doing to my partner, who's a good cop. They did it in front of me and I defended him, boy was he pissed. Thought it was all just hollow sensitivity. I don't believe in bullying and I don't like it. The police force is an old profession and it can be filled with little boys when it should be filled with professional men and women. Jokes and stuff happen because tension can be so thick, but when it's a bunch of guys ganging up and targeting that's not funny and it's not appropriate. You have back up Tim, just say the word and I'm with you."

Tim opened his mouth and closed it. He looked down, "I… was wondering if you knew. I thought…"

"I don't like bullying and I'm there if you need me," Dick repeated clapping him on the shoulder and giving him an encouraging smile.

And it really was encouraging. Tim felt layers of stress peel off.

Dick tiptoed to the couch.

"Aw," He looked honestly moved. Tim followed. Damian was curled up. A bit of oil was smeared on his face. Without the scowl and the 'tude he was actually a cute kid. Dick carefully picked him up. Damian unconsciously clung to his older brother, still drowsy.

"Is the prick gone, Grayson?" The boy mumbled. Wow, not so cute after all.

"You're such a brat," Dick said affectionately. He carried the little boy into one of the backrooms and then emerged.

"He's got a story attached to him, doesn't he?" Tim asked wine allowing his usual decorum to go out the window. His natural need to ask questions surfaced. It's what made him a good detective.

Dick sighed. "He really is a good kid, but he's a genius with a chip on his shoulder who doesn't get half the amount of attention he should be getting."

"You're his guardian?"

"Yeah, just him and me—and Alfie of course," Dick said making his way to the couch. Tim followed.  
"So your parents…?"

"It's complicated… I was adopted. His Dad took me in when I was nine. We didn't even know Damian existed until a year ago. He's gotten bounced around a lot." Dick curled up on the couch to make room for Tim, "I… know I'm too lax with him, but sometimes I think he needs it. He had a stern upbringing so I figure: let the kid take it easy. I wish I knew if I was doing right by him, you know? He's so stubborn and rude and I'm not sure if he respects me or not. I don't even know if he likes me. It's hard cause… well I love him, I really do and I'm proud of him. He's a wit and he's only ten. He's always building these little machines which blow my mind. Despite what he said he actually seems to like my cooking…I'm sorry I'm dumping this all on you."

"No, I get it," Tim said, "He's a smart kid with a bad childhood and you're worried about what you're doing. If it'll be enough to ensure a happy life for him."

Tim couldn't help remember his own lonely childhood. Sure his parents had loved him, but they were also never there.

"Dick, you're here for him and you obviously care. Despite how he may act, it'll make a difference."

"Nice to hear from someone other than Alfie," Dick smiled.

* * *

Damian allowed himself to be carried to his room, in front of a stranger because it might be the last time…

He would miss him. He would really miss him. They were a good together and although he didn't act like it he did appreciate all that Grayson had done. His older brother had been the first person to be gentle with him and it had been pleasant. Any demands Grayson made were easy ones like eating vegetables and doing schoolwork and playing nice. There was no life and death, there was no black and white morality. He could just be himself. Grayson gave him enough space, but he was always there when needed.

"_I think Kara likes you."_

"_I have no interest in the Alien."_

"_Kansas isn't another planet Damian."_

"_She's 'got a crush' on you. Apparently it's a secret. She's not very good at keeping her own secret though the way she tries to hang off you." _

"_I need to teach you about women."_

"_You really don't. If I want a woman I'll find a woman."_

"_You're ten Jailbait, no full grown woman's going to touch you (and if one did try don't let them and tell me immediately). I really shouldn't have to remind you of that."_

"_One of the many reasons why I am not interested in harlots or harlots in the making or Aliens."_

"_Dude, you're going to get punched in the face one day and everyone in the room but you will know why. I'll introduce you to some of my friends on the force. You need to learn how to not be a misogynistic pig. Oh! I need to introduce you to Tatsu. You'd like her. Her nick-name's Katana. It's a very literal nick-name." _

"…_I'm listening." _

Damian blinked away the memory. What was he doing thinking about stupid things like this. Grayson's care had been nice, but in the end it was only a short rest from his real life.

He looked down at the folder angrily. It was filled with a detailed itinerary of Grayson's daily activities. The threat was clear and it was insulting that she even bothered making one.

He listened to the murmur of voices. Drake the new partner. He didn't particularly like Drake. He wished the old one was still around. _He_ would be able to soften his disappearance. Damian had little confidence in this new one.

But he would have to do.

* * *

**Notes:**

So I'm just trying this story on for size really. I've been working on it awhile and want to get a temperature on it.

Just gonna say it now, everything I know about police procedure I learned from the Shield, Dexter, Motive, and Life on Mars (UK and US versions) so let's all just not look too closely at their policing...

Man I like alternate universes too much...

I tagged with Red Robin although in truth I can count on one hand the number of Red Robin comics I've actually read in Old Universe DC (which is where I base most of my stuff), but it's Tim-centric so I thought I should add it.

Oh my gosh it's Tim-centric, if I fail at his character I'm so sorry.

...

I say it's Tim-centric, but I'm not gonna lie, there's a lot of Jason too.

...

And Dick and Damian of course...

I like the Robin boys, can you tell?

Okay I'm just gonna wait in the corner until next chapter...


	2. Bluebird

**Chapter Two: Bluebird**

* * *

Tim jerked awake.

Where was he?

A couch. What? Oh.

Dick's place. Right.

The front door opened and closed quietly. Tim popped up. Damian had just come inside. He was dirty and wet, but he looked unbelievably happy… and relieved—at least until he noticed Tim and registered him as an enemy.

"I wasn't aware this was a hotel now," He glared taking off his shoes and ruined jacket like there was nothing wrong with what he was doing. Maybe there wasn't. Dick did say he was lax with the kid… but he was ten-years-old and it was six in the morning. The neighbourhood wasn't bad—during the day. It was one of the reasons he was on the couch.

"_You've had too much wine to stumble around my neighbourhood at midnight. The couch is officially yours."_

"_Dick I'm a cop."_

"_Yes Tim, so am I. Trust me. It's not that bad, but you're drunk and you'll probably lose your wallet. It's happened to me twice sober."_

"_You're lying to spare my feelings aren't you? I'm buzzed, I'm not drunk! I'll say the alphabet backward!"_

"_You're eating a poptart with barbecue sauce." Tim looked down… huh, so he was. "You're completely drunk. I promise it's a comfy couch."_

Dick was a liar. Such a liar. It felt like a baby hippo had curled up on his back and nested there during the night.

"What were you doing?" Tim asked forcing himself not to take Damian's bait.

"Playing," Damian said deadpan.

"At six in the morning?"

"I'm an early bird." Complete snark. He wasn't even trying to make excuses.

"The sun hasn't risen."

"Sorry, who are you again?" The boy glared. He was rumpled and looked exhausted. Any elation he might have felt a few seconds ago was gone. He looked like a drenched pissed off kitten, "Do me a favour and screw off."

"Do me a favour and show some respect," Being nice to kids was one thing, but this little spitfire was smarter and more mature than the average ten year old. It annoyed him that he saw himself in Damian. Distant, angry and too smart for his own good.

"Fuck off Drake."

"Damian!"

Tim and Damian turned. Dick. He was in a pair of blue Captain America boxers and a slightly oversized navy tee with the Gotham Knights shield. He looked grouchy. His eyes scanned Damian up and down and widened by what they found.

The boy looked caught out. The venomous look he gave Tim could have poisoned a king cobra.

Dick was across the room in a second and he grabbed Damian by the shoulders.

"What happened?!" He demanded. He had a look that only a parent could express. Raw anger coupled with extreme worry, "What were you doing?"

Damian pulled away. He wouldn't look at Dick. "I'm sorry."

It was a gruff apology, but completely sincere. Damian was ashamed. Not of his actions, but of scaring his older brother.

"Damian…" Dick whispered. He turned, suddenly aware of Tim. Tim suddenly felt self-conscious. He was an outsider here. They may have gained ground in their partnership, but this was a family matter.

"I can go—" Tim said rolling off the couch trying to ignore his back and his hangover and lack of sleep. God he was never sleeping with that baby hippo again.

"No, no, it's fine." Dick looked between the two. Let's talk in my bedroom Damian."

"I don't want to talk." Damian pulled away and went towards the kitchenette, "And I don't want him here."

"Damian, you're being really rude right now."

"I don't want him to be here Grayson! I don't want to talk about feelings! I don't want to get to know someone that might be gone tomorrow!"

Dick opened his mouth and closed it he approached the boy again, "This is about…? Damian, Tim isn't like Jas—"

What was going on here…?

"You don't know that!" Damian said sharply, "I don't want a repeat of what happened last time. You were… you weren't you."

The kid was making this about him!? Really? He was trying to push the focus away from what he had been doing. He had been relieved when he walked in, he wasn't depressed or worried about Tim sleeping on the couch.

Dick got in front of the child again and kneeled down putting a hand on his shoulder.

Tim's ears strained to hear. He couldn't help himself. He hated not knowing. His curiosity always moved on the side of obsessive. He hated unfinished puzzles all his life. He had always wanted to be a detective when he was a boy. His life didn't seem to be moving in that direction. He was probably going to end up businessman taking a lead in his father's company. It was for them. He wanted his parents to see him. When they died he had no one to make happy but himself.

"Damian, look at me," Dick said softly.

It was stupid to feel jealous of a ten-year-old to have Dick Grayson who was always busy, but still attentive.

"Never mind."

"Damian."

The boy unwillingly met Dick's eyes.

"I know you're trying to play me."

"Grayson! I—"

"You don't like Tim, I get it. Doesn't matter, that's not the reason you were out at six in the morning God knows where doing God knows what. You don't have to tell me what you were doing. I just want you to tell me if you're okay."

Damian was about to open his mouth.

"For real Damian. Don't be sarcastic. What you did wasn't okay and you're grounded, but I need to know if you're safe and if you need me."

"I'm alright, Grayson."

Dick pulled his little brother into a hug and Damian uncharacteristically allowed it. He was stiff and didn't hug him back. Maybe it was supposed to look like an appeasement, but Tim knew differently. Damian was happy to be there, but refused to show it.

He knew he was lucky to have Dick and yet he refused to acknowledge it—

Man that kid was annoying.

_I really need to stop projecting my childhood onto my partner I've only known for two weeks, I'm bordering on creepy right now. Creepy is bad._

Dick, he noticed, looked even more worried when Damian didn't protest.

* * *

**Gotham Old Town 8:00 AM.**

"Detectives Drake and Grayson." The younger of the two introduced. He was in plains clothes, but looked too young to be a detective. He couldn't be more than twenty-five. There was a delicate looking and bird like quality to his features and his blue eyes regarded every piece of information they came into contact with. The other, was taller, older, still young, but not as obviously ridiculous as his young partner. He was casual and had a friendly air and an easy charm that the observer was familiar with. To a stranger they might look like brothers. Both had black hair and blue eyes and wiry athletic figures, but the taller of the two had more of an eastern European look while the shorter was pale. Uniformed officers moved all around them while they stood solidly looking down at the dead body.

He watched from the sidelines taking pictures. A crowd had gathered outside the tape and he looked like just another reporter trying to find a scoop. He zoomed in on Dick for a moment, he was distracted with the job. He wouldn't notice a familiar face in the crowd especially one covered in shades and a hat. The observer snapped a picture smiling very slightly. Dick always took a good picture. The lens shifted over to Drake. It was the younger one his client was interested in.

* * *

The corpse was a man. He was laid out spread eagle with a bullet hole directly in the center of his forehead. As if to drive the point home his head was severed from his neck, but unmoved from the place where he fell. There was blood everywhere.

"It's our one month anniversary," Dick joked. Tim looked up, pulled away from the cold violence in front of him. Dick was a Godsend. Working homicide was quietly horrifying and Dick was an anchor.

"My sixth dead body." A clean bullet to the head. No fierce emotion, no ill intention, just a dead body lying on the ground.

The lack of emotion was disturbing.

"I'll buy you pie later." Dick brought him back again. His partner glanced at him reading his unsettled feelings, "This will be a tough one," Dick predicted.

"How tall do you make him?" Tim asked.

"Bout your height? Maybe a bit shorter," His partner mused scanning the corpse up and down.

"No powder burns, it wasn't point blank."

"Huh," Dick confirmed and nodded. He took a step back and raised his pointer finger at Tim, his thumb up miming a gun. He lifted his arm high above his head trying to make the slant line up.

"Bang."

"Angle makes no sense." Tim agreed, "Not unless it was right against the head, but there was no burning."

Dick whistled and looked around. "Quite the shot," He jerked his head towards the third level of a parade.

Tim frowned, "Have to be either very lucky or very professional, but for this guy?" He gestured to some of the uniforms to scope out the parking lot, "Preserve anything you find, we'll be up soon." And then he went back to staring down at the corpse.

"Doesn't make much sense," Dick agreed finally, "I know him too, Val Kaliban."

"One of your many friends?"

Dick had friends everywhere. Every hole in the wall coffee joint and underground club. People in office buildings, laundry mats, prostitutes, lawyers, meter-maids.

Dick snorted, "The world won't mourn him. He's the hypnotist and escape-artist that held the mayor hostage."

"And now he's dead."

"Don't get pulled in. You want a reason for his life to be over. You want to solve a puzzle, but there's no puzzle in his death. It was a hit from a freelancer. There was no feeling. We're looking for a shadow."

Tim shivered.

"How do you know?"

"Honestly? Been on the job long enough and the scene's pristine. We won't find the gun that matches that bullet. Sometimes you get a gut feeling on these cases. You feel it too, right?"

"It's not like… with the other bodies," Tim said slowly.

"Anger, hate, even love sometimes. Nothing here," Dick said, quietly angry. He pulled himself back, breathed in deeply. "You know how you hear these cops in movies say to trust your gut? Like you get a pull, a tingle. Alarm bells go off, the hair on the back of your neck stands up. It's not bad vibes, it's you seeing something that doesn't sit right or seeing something you've seen before. Trust your gut, but look for what's set it off."

Tim nodded. It was good advice.

He thought back to his morning on Dick's couch a month ago, Damian coming in with that elated look on his face dirty and wet. That set his gut buzzing. It could be written off as a ten-year-old (an admitted problem child) blowing off steam and making trouble, but there was such an edge to it. It felt so wrong and out of place, but he couldn't grasp the details Dick was talking about on that mystery. He had almost talked to Dick about it, but they were still too new together to have Tim telling Dick how to run his own family.

Tim had been over several more times and it was obvious Damian's opinion of him had gone from rock bottom to the granite underneath. He wouldn't be forgiven for catching him at the door and, quite frankly, he felt like the boy knew he was on to him.

Although on to him was a strong phrase to be using.

"Have you seen this shooter before, Dick?" Tim asked finally. He had been silent a good five minutes. Dick glanced at him, shook his head, "Crime scene's eerily clean and it's so impersonal it's abnormal. He's good at what he does. He's probably already out of the country. We're looking for the guy who ordered it, not the one that pulled the trigger and cut off the head."

Tim was suddenly swept up in his memories. He was a teenager clutching the phone hearing his father die. Jack Drake's death was ordered too, but it was the murderer that he remembered. George Harkness was the name written on his soul. Jean Loring was mentally unstable, hadn't even meant Jack to die and Tim would never forgive her for it, dead or not, but Harker? Harker was in the right mind. Harker took his father's life because he got a bag of money.

"They'd want the triggerman more."

"Who would?"

Tim straightened, he hadn't meant to say that out loud, "His family." He answered briefly. Dick nodded.

"Yeah and as much as I don't weep for Kaliban there'll be those that will and you're right, they'd want the Triggerman, but they'd want the person that ordered it more. The freelancer's a tool."

_You're wrong._ Tim thought. _Because in the end it was the freelancer's final action that determined whether or not Val Kaliban would breathe for one more day._

* * *

They were heading back from a case. It had been a long day. Dick chatted cheerfully and Tim let his voice wash over him.

They had been working together for two months now and just as Dick predicted, they had fallen into a good partnership. Dick's energy and quick thinking balanced well with Tim's steadiness and deep thinking.

They were walking side by side through Old Town. Cops weren't well loved in Gotham. Most were crooked, and the ones who weren't usually held no sway. Old Town was different. Old Town was filled with straight shooters and ruled with an iron fist by Captain Bruce Wayne. If Wayne smelt a bit of corruption he would dig up dirt on the person and bury them with it. As such, Old Town was understaffed and underfunded. Dick and Tim's caseloads were probably twice the size that they should be.

"So mac and cheese with soda at my place?" Dick asked, directly pulling Tim out of his musings.

"Mm, sure," He nodded. Tim lived alone in the house he inherited from his parents. It was big and empty, but Tim couldn't bring himself to sell it. Dick wasn't well off by any stretch of the imagination. He lived in a tiny two bedroom which was one step above the bad part of town. He had to balance and budget and support his little brother on a thin salary. Yet, they never went to Tim's. Tim's house was empty, dead, a place to sleep. Dick's place was crowded, but filled with life. Tim offered to buy groceries sometimes. Dick accepted the obvious charity gracefully. Perhaps if he was on his own he would be prideful, but with Damian any bit of help was appreciated.

"So did you want to go over the case notes for Dent's—" Dick was interrupted by his own cellphone. "Sorry," he apologised. He answered, "Hello?"

He stopped suddenly tense. "I just got off a double and I don't feel like your shit right now—"

"And I just need an hour of your time, Bluebird."

The Red Hood. Tim didn't have time to reach for his gun, Red Hood already had a weapon trained on him. The vigilante put a cellphone back in his pocket then waved.

Dick was angry. "What the hell do you think you're—"

"Stopping the Replacement from shooting me dead," Red Hood cut him off. "Wouldn't want any bloodshed. I know how much you hate that."

"Dick?" Tim wasn't quite sure how to proceed. A known vigilante had them at gunpoint and apparently had a pet name for his partner. This wasn't exactly in the handbook.

"You let him go right now," Dick hissed looking like he was ready to push against the gun's barrel.

"Well, I'd love to, but I'm sorta curious about the Replacement. I mean, you've been riding solo for a long time." Red Hood drawled. Tim could tell he was smiling under that stupid helmet. "Have you finally got over _him_ then?"

"You son of a bitch—"

Besides, you shouldn't keep secrets from your partner."

"You're not a secret Red Hood so don't sound so smug," Dick scowled.

"I was talking about me. All of our time together and you don't tell me about this… brat? What is he twelve? He looks a bit confused as well actually, now that you've mentioned it."

Tim was confused and he wished he wasn't showing it so much, but seriously, what the hell was going on?

"You are _not_ my partner."

"Why don't I threaten and you talk?" Red Hood suggested gesturing the two into the ally. Seeing as Dick seemed more annoyed angry than fearing for his life angry it was a safe bet they weren't about to be gunned down in a dark alley so Tim stepped into the shadows looking questioningly at Dick.

"Red Hood's an outlaw," Dick said with little prompt, "Make no mistake about that."

"You say the kindest things about me sweetheart," Red Hood sounded like he was grinning.

"But he's good at keeping himself on the street," Dick pressed on. "He's a slippery bastard." Dick spoke as if the man he was talking about wasn't holding a gun at their backs. "But he's also useful."

"The compliments just keep coming."

"He likes to gossip," Dick said bluntly, "About the criminal underworld."

"Only with my Bluebird. I'm not particularly fond of cops." Red Hood leaned in close and ran a finger down Dick's neck. Dick jumped, spun around and slapped the hand away. Tim turned as well grabbing Dick's shoulders pulling him back-_holding_ him back. He was honestly afraid for his partner right now. He had never seen Dick Grayson act so aggressively, especially when shit hit the fan. He was an emotional man, but always so calm in a crisis, prepared for any contingency, this wasn't him.

Red Hood didn't seem bothered, but he gestured with his gun towards Tim's head.

"Careful, Bluebird." Red Hood cocked his head to one side studying the two of them. "Don't be too cruel to me."

Tim felt Dick's shoulders rise and fall, slowly relax, but still shaking just the slightest bit in his fury.

"The Captain knows about it," Dick reluctantly continued. "Red Hood tips us off about his rivals. He's a selfish small time mobster, not a vigilante like he markets himself. You see a chance you take it, Tim."

"So cold," Red Hood sounded pouty. He raised his free hand to touch Dick's cheek. Leather gloved fingers barely brushed when Dick leaned away, eyes closed features disgusted. Red Hood made a short frustrated sound. "You're no fun." He sighed. He turned towards Tim. "Is he this bitchy with you? _He_ always said _his_ 'Dickie-bird' was a darling, but then I always thought he was in love with you."

"Don't talk about him!" Dick snapped trying to rush forward again. The gun was pressed against his chest. Tim grabbed him before he could push forward. "Don't even say his name! You want to talk then talk. Don't pretend you knew him and don't you dare pretend we're friends."

"I was going for something closer," Red Hood whispered pulling the gun back and Tim felt a jerk of emotion. There was something real— "Okay, alright," Red Hood held up his hands before Dick could yell at him again. The vigilante was completely focused on his partner and Tim saw his chance.

He attempt to move forward, grab the gun. A blast, Tim clutched his shoulder shocked. The bastard actually shot him. He leaned against the alley wall. A graze but…

"We banter," And now the two cops were quiet watching the vigilante's every move. "And I like him, but that doesn't mean I won't shoot you. There's a reason that I get away clean every single time. I haven't killed a cop yet, but that doesn't mean there can't be a first." Red Hood held his gun steady. The intent was there, Tim thought dazed, he was going to kill him.

"Let him go right now," Dick repeated. He stepped in front of his partner protectively.

Red Hood chuckled. He moved in closer to Dick. This time the Detective didn't move. The Hood ran the muzzle of the gun down his cheek. "If I let him go does that mean I can keep you, Bluebird?"

Dick stood perfectly still as Red Hood leaned in. The gun was too close. Tim couldn't do anything. He was powerless.

-And that's what the bastard wanted. He wanted to show Tim that, what? He had some claim on his partner?

Red Hood wasn't playing. He wasn't just trying to antagonize Dick who he seemed to share a history with. He wanted to be closer. Needed to be closer, but he couldn't and he was taking it out on Tim.

"Now who's being a bitch?" Dick asked punctuating Tim's thoughts.

"Me, always. Alright Bluebird, the Replacement can go, but you and I need to chat. It's been awhile since we talked face to face." He grabbed Dick by the chin, "I'd like to savour it."

Dick stared into Red Hood's white eyelets, looked down, then nodded.

"Tim, go."

"Are you crazy?! I'm not leaving you!"

"You heard him Replacement, scram," And there was that smugness Tim was listening for. Like Red Hood had won something with Dick's dismissal of him.

"He's not going t—"

"I'm going to be fine. He's a prick, but he's not going to hurt me," Dick said so softly Tim almost didn't hear it. "We'll have pasta just like I promised."

Tim saw the twitch of anger he was looking for in Red Hood's hand.

Jealously.

"You should go before I change my mind and Bluebird needs another replacement."

* * *

**Notes:**

Oh Red Hood


	3. Peaches

**Chapter Three: Peaches**

* * *

**Two Weeks Ago...**

* * *

"Sh, don't move."

His lips were only a few centimetres away. Dick's blue eyes were pinned to his face. His attention was completely on him.

"Stop it."

"Moving your lips counts as moving," Jason whispered licking his own. He smirked that bad boy smirk of his. "I want to touch you."

"You don't have permission for that."

"But do I really need it?" He bent forward sniffing at Dick's hair, "You smell like peaches." He said in amusement.

"Sale on girl shampoo. I don't really see the difference."

"Difference is you smell like peaches," Jason grinned moving in closer. Dick smiled as well tilting his head so that he'd catch Jason's lips with his own.

"Is that permission?"

"Did it feel like permission?"

Jason shifted, kissing down Dick's jaw to his collar bone. "Yeah," He breathed running his hand along his partner's chest. "This is nice…" He whispered and Dick hummed in agreement.

"My sweet-smelling Bluebird."

"Red Hood calls me Bluebird."

"He can fuck off." Jason said possessively "And the Replacement."

"But then I won't have anyone."

"You'll have me," Jason frowned. He was lying on top of Dick, chin on his lover's chest. He kissed him lightly there.

"But you're dead."

Fire, choking, fear.

And Jason woke up.

"Fuck."

Twisted sheets, unsatisfied arousal, alone.

Fucking cock-teasing dream!

…He sniffed. Peaches…?

"Morning sunshine."

"Double fuck."

Roy and Kory were hanging over his couch. Kory's perfume wafted through the room.

Jason angrily got out of bed

"Need any help?" Kory asked gesturing toward his crotch. He pointedly ignored her, going into his bathroom and slamming the door.

Roy and Kory. They were his somethings… they hung around, ate his food, had sex on his couch, and made comments about—

"So was that wet dream about Dick?"

"Shut up Roy!" He shouted. Fuck. It's not a freaking wet dream if it doesn't go off! He pulled down his sweats and tried desperately to block his intruders out and go back to the dream.

"Cause you were mumbling some pretty sweet things!"

"Shut up Roy." He let the smell of peaches wash over him.

"I mean you were either calling his name, or were enamoured with a really pretty looking penis."

"Shut the fuck UP Roy!"

Jason focused on sky blue eyes and coal black hair, golden skin. A quick smile an easy laugh, a gentle touch. Dick. He shuddered and suppressed a moan.

God…

He pulled up his pants, flushed, washed his hands and faced his sponges.

"Stop having sex with your hand," Roy chirped hearing the bathroom door open.

"Stop having sex on my couch," Jason replied, deadpan as he made his way to the kitchenette. Roy and Kory 'finished,' and then were once again hanging over the back watching as he went about his business. It was times like this Jason wished his safe house wasn't a loft with everything in one room. The only other room was the bathroom and he refused to brood in a tiny bathroom to find solitude.

"Don't be jealous just because you only have your hand." Kory chided, "It's you that chooses to stay alone."

"I haven't 'chosen' anything," Jason grumbled putting on some coffee. "I'm off the grid and if anyone makes me my whole operation is shot to hell. The fact that Roy knows is bad enough—"

"And the one you want you can never have," Roy said overdramatically.

"Who's that again?" Jason played dumb pouring his coffee. "The guy that you both slept with?"

"Jealous," Kory said in amusement.

"What can we say? Redheads have a thing for him and if I remember correctly that inky black hair of yours used to be—"

"Uhuh," Jason said dismissively.

"It wouldn't be so bad if you just moved on," Roy said, "We moved on."

Kory examined her nails, "I'd take him back."

"Yeah, okay me too," Roy admitted.

"Then again," And now Kory was looking directly at Jason acid green eyes deep with memory and fondness, "With Dick and me it was about coming together, unity. We were great in bed, we were great emotionally. Our morals are where it all fell down. He wanted me to live up to his standards and I felt like he wasn't willing to go far enough for important things. And he... well, there were some things that he couldn't live with about what I'm willing to do. We couldn't relate on that level. I lived long enough as a slave so I get a bit twitchy when others tell me how to live."

"We've noticed," Roy and Jason chorused.

"But," She rolled her eyes, "Dick is a part of my soul. You don't get over someone like that easily, even when you are the one that dumped him."

"So what am I? Chopped liver?" Roy pouted. She glanced over at him.

"Dick is one part, you're another. Jason's probably in their too."

"Ugh I have to share a soul with Jason? I'm totally going to Hell."

"You weren't already?"

"Why do I let you guys in again, oh wait, I don't." Jason moved to one of the chairs. Scattered on his coffee table were pictures.

"You're the one that hired us," Kory shrugged.

"Because the amount I have on you both is too heavy for you to risk spilling my identity to anyone else.

"So as of three A.M. this morning Drake seems pretty clean," Roy said changing the subject (to something that would annoy Jason just as much). He reached with his leg and toed one of the pictures. "Went to a good school, inherited a lot of money. His parents were murdered hence him becoming a cop. He was top of his class in everything, work-a-holic with a perfection complex, and became a Detective ten years before he should have. All in all he's not a tough guy to figure out."

"And he's definitely gay," Kory finished bluntly taking a sip of the coffee Jason just handed her (none for Roy).

"S'cuse me?" Jason nearly choked.

She slid a picture toward him. Drake very obviously checking out Dick's ass.

"He likes Dick," Roy grinned as if he had just been clever.

"He might be bi," Kory amended with a shrug, "We didn't bother testing because we know the only person you really want to know about concerning Drake is Dick."

"And Dick?" Jason asked without meaning to.

"Notices," Kory said, "But he's keeping a distance from it. Probably still…" she trailed off seeing the look in Jason's eyes, "He's probably not ready to trust yet," she said instead. "But there's something there. He wants to. Dick's in love. Or he will be soon, if he allows the trust between them to grow."

Jason didn't kick over the coffee table, but it was a near thing.

"I'm asking you to spy on him so I know if he's dirty. I'm not paying you to keep tabs on who Dick is dating."

"Liar," the two redheads said in unison.

"But don't say we're not thorough," Roy said. "Drake is clean, probably one of the cleanest cops in the station and in Old Town that's saying something.

This time he did kick the table over. Pictures of Drake went flying everywhere. He caught one, but it wasn't a picture of Drake. It was a picture of Dick looking sombre, probably at a crime scene. Jason had seen that look enough times. Roy must have taken it when he was shadowing Drake.

"He sees me," Jason said quietly. God he needed to stop talking to these two about this. "A younger shorter me."

"What? Because of the black hair and blue eyes? You were a redhead when you knew him," Roy pointed out.

"And his personality is the opposite of yours," Kory added.

"Yeah, he's actually smart," Roy said.

"Just because you don't have an excuse to blast him doesn't mean you can't," Kory said not understanding why all this was such a big deal. "Where I come from you protect what's yours and you don't make excuses to do it."

"That's not how it works here," Jason hissed. "I don't kill innocent people, even if they are know-it-all little pricks and… and Dick was never mine."

No matter how much he wished he was.

"He would have been," Kory said. "But you made the choice. You chose to be alone."

"For his sake! For the kid's sake and Alfred's!" Jason spat jumping up unable to sit anymore.

"And they are safer," Roy said gently. He pulled back from his vulgar jokes and ribbing. He saw the real hurt Jason was feeling. "Hey man, you're doing the right thing by them and if it were me I would totally check to make sure Mr. Trust Fund isn't a danger. They're your family, right?"

"I would crack his jaw and throw him into the harbour if it was me, but you boys do things your way." Kory shrugged taking another sip of coffee.

"It's tempting," Jason murmured. He stared down at a picture of Dick and Drake smiling. "Real tempting."

"I don't get it," Roy said. "If you feel this way, why did you choose Red Hood? Jason Todd was still on the table, wasn't he?"

"Bruce Wayne gave me a choice that was no choice at all," Jason said stonily.

"I'm surprised Wayne didn't take his bat to you when he had his chance. Working as Red Hood under his nose, and at Dick's side," Kory mused. "He was always very…"

"Protective, possessive, controlling, psychotic?" Roy suggested.

"Yes to all four," Jason grumbled. He put his table right again, but didn't bother picking up the photos. "But he owes me."

Jason didn't go into more detail than that although both his sponges had asked him before. Bruce Wayne would never turn him in, not after the sacrifice he made. He looked down at a picture of Dick and Drake. Dick looked serious and a bit grim. It was distinctively a Bruce Wayne look.

No matter what he did now he could never have him. He could only be in his shadow protecting him and his nest.

His eyes slipped over to Drake again.

This wasn't what he wanted and he was just beginning to understand that he couldn't do it.

He couldn't let himself be replaced.

* * *

**Now...**

* * *

Tim leaned against the cold brick wall of the building, waiting. Dick emerged hands in his pockets calm, grim, completely unharmed.

There was a crazy moment when he looked at Dick's wind chapped lips to see if they were kiss swollen. They weren't and he felt stupid for it. Dick's anger towards the Red Hood was genuine and Red Hood wouldn't show his face for just a kiss (would he?).

He suddenly realized Dick's hand was on his uninjured shoulder trying to steady him.

"—should be at a hospital!" Dick grabbed at his radio. Tim reached, grabbed his hand, stopped him.

"Already called back-up. I'm grazed. I'm okay, are you okay? What was all that?"

Dick grabbed his head holding him still. Tim didn't lean in, but it was a close thing. He got caught in blue eyes but then—

"Ah!"

Dick's flashlight burned his pupils.

"Your head hit the wall when he shot you. I think you have a concussion, but you need to get checked out."

"I don't remember hitting the wall… how long… were you gone?"

Dick picked up his radio. This time Tim didn't stop him.

"This is Adam 19-"

Tim didn't listen as Dick rattled off the codes. He was sitting now. Must have slipped down the wall, or maybe Dick made him sit.

"Hey, don't fall asleep."

"I can't go to sleep?"

"If you have a concussion you can, if you don't then you can't, so until we can confirm the concussion…"

"The conclusion is no sleeping. I got it." Tim felt dizzy.

"And graze or not you're losing a lot of blood," Dick put pressure on his arm. He winced.

Dick was talking to him again as he staved off the wound, but Tim wasn't really listening anymore, "Dick, why is he…"

_Why is he in love with you?_

* * *

When Tim woke up he was in a hospital bed. Dick was asleep on his chair beside him. His arm was bandaged and his head felt clearer although he felt muddier at the same time. Pain meds.

"Hey," He said softly. Dick snorted, undignified and opened his eyes. He looked confused for a moment, like he didn't know where he was and then he focused on Tim.

"Hey. You feeling better?"

"Yeah, but still pretty confused."

"I owe you an explanation."

"Yeah."

Dick sighed, "I don't know why I haven't told you already. It was… really unprofessional of me and it got you shot and I'm so sorry Tim."

"Just… tell me why?"

He wished he could have seen Red Hood's eyes. Then he would have known for sure, but the intensity between his partner and the vigilante…

"I've never told you about my last partner. His name was Jason Todd."

An uneasy feeling rushed into his stomach. Jason Todd's shield was hung on the station's wall in memoriam. Tim stayed silent, waiting.

"Jason wasn't the cleanest cop," Dick admitted slowly. "But he was a good man. He was more than a partner, he was my friend and that's how I like to remember him… probably why I never told you…"

Tim could see how painful it was. He should be angry, but he wasn't because he knew Dick and Dick was a good man.

"Red Hood surfaced two years ago. At first he was a vigilante. He beat up thugs and left them giftwrapped, but… he started getting more violent. He was angry about something. I always wondered what it was. He went from kicking the shit out of bangers and dealers to murdering them. Then he started organizing."

"Yeah, I got the docket of the noticeable of the area. He forced the gangs and mobsters to join under him. He became crime in Old Town until the big time muscled in."

"It was better then," Dick said softly.

"What?"

"With him in charge," Dick explained, admitted. He looked like he didn't want to believe what he was saying, but he continued anyway. He wasn't meeting Tim's eyes. "It was better. No one sold drugs to kids, no one used them for sex. No more drive-bys that took civilian lives. He knew how to keep the reins tight on the mobsters and gang-bangers. Bruce—The Captain hated him back then—still hates him now, but _really_ hated him then. The Hood was quietly lauded as a saviour of the community. Old Town sung his praises and we were chasing him. The police wasn't looked on too kindly, worse than now, but crime was still technically down. You can't have a stat if there's no evidence of a crime after all. Me and Jason were on his case, but there wasn't much we could do. No one knew who he was; even his lieutenants had never seen his face. He knew how to cover himself. He knew how to clean up and he was always one step ahead, he was always just out of reach."

The puzzle clicked, oh Dick.

"Todd was in with him?" Tim asked gently.

Dick looked angry for a second, maybe about to refute it, but in the end nodded, "Yeah. He had been feeding Red Hood tips. Jason believed in Red Hood's cause. From what I learned later it was more than just tips. He was in it from the beginning. He was in too deep. Then the fire happened and Red Hood's fall."

Red Hood's fall. His men turned against him. Black Mask pushed in, the Penguin pushed in. The last night of his rule a warehouse burnt down.

"Jason died in the fire. Collateral damage."

Tim nodded, "So… how did you find out?"

"I figured it out that night," Dick said. There was no expression on his face. He was lost in the memory, "It was all in front of me, I just didn't want to see it. I couldn't. Then the smallest thing that I couldn't ignore, couldn't make excused for… it was the smallest…I called him."

"But he was—"

"No, he was still alive. I didn't tell him I knew. I wanted to ask him to meet up with me, have coffee. I wanted to talk to him properly. He didn't let me talk. He just said 'I'm sorry, it's better this way.' He hung up, he wouldn't pick up after. If I had only—"

"And Red Hood?" Tim interrupted. He didn't want to hear about Jason Todd. He didn't want to see Dick look so sad. As sad as he looked talking about acrobatics and the circus.

"Two months later, I had pieced together Jason's involvement. It went deep. It seemed like he and the Hood were in it together almost from the very beginning. I think Jason knew who he was, but none of the information I gathered lead to a name. It just implicated Jason more. The Captain said we'd leave it off the books. There was no need to drag a dead officer's name through the mud. It would only insight public outcry. So I got to remember him as my friend and partner and not a traitor and you know… I was happy to keep that secret. I didn't feel guilty. Jason was trying to do the right thing. In another life maybe I would have done the same." Dick sighed, "And it could have ended there, a sad bitter memory, but it didn't. Red Hood sought me out. Said I'm the only cop he would talk to, only one he would trust because he knew that Jason had trusted me." Dick laughed, bitter. "Jason didn't trust me. If he had maybe it would have turned out differently. Red Hood introduced himself personally, wouldn't leave me alone."

"So what did you do?"

"Tried to arrest him. He ran. I pursued, but he knows the rooftops. Then he called me. He said Jason and him… God. I told the Captain. I said we should try to use this connection he's made with me against him. He said we should. Said Red Hood's officially on our wanted list, but that we listen to what he has to say while we try to catch him."

Tim looked at him incredulously, "So, wait. Wayne is allowing a dangerous criminal to stalk one of his Detectives?"

"I should have told you all this in the beginning."

"Yeah," Tim agreed. He really should be angry. Maybe it was the drugs, maybe it was because Dick was a victim and was too stubborn to see it. Maybe it was because he had grown to like Dick, a lot.

"No wonder you hate him so much," He said under his breath. Jason Todd was dead because Red Hood dragged him under. That didn't explain the way the Hood acted towards Dick though.

_He was so aggressive to the point of being possessive. He kept calling me Replacement. As if he took my partnering with Dick personally. As if Todd should never have been replaced. Were they really that close? Had they known each other for a long time? Does Red Hood know Dick with his mask off? Maybe they're friends and Dick doesn't even know it. He took me so personally like it wasn't a slight to Jason Todd, it was a slight to him—wait… no…no it can't—_

"You okay?" Dick looked down, his worry only marginally veiled. He was oblivious, completely oblivious when it came to Red Hood. It was too close to him, maybe it was like Todd the first time; he just didn't want to see it, or maybe Jason Todd—Red Hood was a very good actor.

He was about to say it, he was about to suggest it, but he couldn't be sure and doing that on a hunch…

Dick was visibly concerned now. He was clutching Tim's uninjured shoulder gently.

_Like a big brother might, or maybe a lov—_

Telling and being wrong (hell, being right) would hurt him, deeply.

"Damian's waiting for you right?" Tim asked instead. His brain was buzzing he needed to be alone, he needed to think. "Go, get some sleep. I… get why you didn't tell me. You didn't think he would involve me. From now on though, when it comes to work we can't have secrets. If it affects the job you tell me and… and in return I'll tell you. We're partners, okay? Same deal you made when we had dinner that first time. We're all the other has, right?"

The irony of what he was saying wasn't lost on him at all.

"Sounds like a taste of my own medicine." Dick's easy smile relieved some of the guilt he was feeling.

"Yeah."

Keeping it secret was worth it. It was only a hunch in a hospital bed when he was pumped full of drugs.

Dick squeezed his shoulder, "Sorry no pasta tonight."

"I wasn't looking forward to your cooking anyway."

* * *

**Notes:**

Poor Jason. Not much to say this chapter. Drop me a line if you have a question and if it doesn't spoil anything I'll probably give an answer.


	4. Peanut Butter Soup

"They called him Spook."

"Huh?"

Tim had just got back. His arm was fine, his head was fine and Dick was fine—

Alright maybe his head was still a bit loopy, but he was cleared to drive and that was the only thing stopping him from going to work every day. He had been entirely cut off. Dick would stop by every few days, but he refused to say what he was working on.

_"Nothing new, I promise,"_ Dick would reassure him. Tim knew he was lying. Old Town was a place that didn't go quiet just because he had a bump on his head.

Dick slid him a file. Val Kaliban.

"Kaliban, you remember him? About a month ago by that old parking garage. We didn't find any evidence, place was clean."

"Right," Tim nodded slowly. It was hard to forget. Bullet in the centre of the forehead and head separated from the body for good measure. Seemed like overkill to him.

"Well, I did some digging. Kaliban had another name, Spook. He claimed he was a ghost that could escape any trap, even death."

"Really?" Tim raised an eyebrow. "Didn't escape this one."

"Yeah, but you know, something about the whole thing bugged me. It was such a clean scene, why even bother cutting off a head if you're not going to throw it in the river?"

"Maybe it was a warning or desecration of the body for disloyalty," Tim suggested slowly. "Mobster's like making a point in Gotham. You said it wouldn't be the killer's incentive or motive. That guy was hired help."

"Right," Dick nodded. He pulled out a picture, the body cleaned for autopsy. "I mean other than finding the guy who paid for it the case is pretty dead, at least that's what I thought, but that head…"

"It bugged you," Tim finished.

"It really did," Dick laughed. "So I was thinking: if it's not a warning or desecration why would you leave the head?"

Tim shrugged, he leaned in, interested.

Dick pulled out some reports, "You leave a head because you want to hide who the body belonged to."

Tim skimmed the papers, his eyes widened and he looked up at Dick, "Wait… so the head doesn't belong to the body?"

"It doesn't," Dick confirmed, he looked excited. Another lead. Something to follow up. There was bloodhound in that man's genes. "And the body doesn't have any distinguishing markings. Even its fingerprints and toe prints have been burnt off, but the head is of the guy who kidnapped the Mayor. He was public; everyone in Gotham knew his face. We never had his prints on file in the first place so we didn't think the burning was odd, just thought he was Mr. Paranoid. We didn't really need to check, we didn't even make much of an effort. Kaliban's a bad guy. Forensic did a rush job and threw him for the slab. We didn't have to autopsy the body. The cause of death was all connected with the head. Everything matched so perfectly we didn't think about it, even, his skin tone was right. It was just another dead body in Old Town of a criminal that went too far."

"But now it's two dead bodies… wow…you figured out all this by yourself?"

"B—The Captain put me on cold cases while you were recuperating. Had to fill my time with something." Dick looked mildly annoyed for being put on standby. Then he brightened waving the reports, "Just got my requested blood test from forensics this morning. Head and body don't match."

"That's really…"

"Spooky?"

Tim snorted, "You're awful." Tim read through the notes again. "You know this doesn't change the fact that we still don't have anything on either body."

"Sure we do," Dick bounced. He pulled his trench coat off his chair. Tim couldn't help but be enthused by his eagerness. He followed as Dick led him out the door. "We got another body. We were looking into Spook and we thought we had all the pieces of the puzzle we were going to get. Now we have pieces that don't fit. Our investigation was about why someone would kill Val Kaliban, but he was just manure on a pile of daisies. It was Spook because everyone knew his face so we wouldn't look twice at the body, but now here's the other question—"

"Why leave the body if there's a chance we might discover discrepancies?" Tim finished.

"Yeah. So now that the trail's luke-warm I think we should see some of our 'pals' and ask if they've seen an M.O. like this before. It's a long shot, but you never know. We need to find out why they left the body."

It was a good question if everything Dick had surmised lined up. The body was left out in the open paired with a head that didn't belong to it when it could just as easily been tossed in the ocean. The murderer wanted the body out in the open for people to see, one reason was that any police investigation would focus on the head, but the other would be… Ah.

"The body was the warning, not the head."

Dick looked over at him. They were in Dick's car driving through Midtown. Tim blinked, weren't they just at the station?

"I love it when you do that," Dick gave him a quick grin, eyes crinkling before he faced the road again. "What's your theory?"

Tim brought his focus back to the present. This is what they did now. Dick would find the frame of the puzzle and Tim would fill it in. Click, click, click.

"They left the head to mislead us about the body," Tim said slowly. "But the body was put on display as well. It was the whole reason the head was staged. Somebody out there knows what this all means."

Dick nodded keeping his eyes on traffic. "So maybe a body with its head chopped off and another person's head means something?"

"Maybe," Tim said slowly. "It could be symbolism, it could be…"

What could it be? Unbidden Red Hood came to mind. He had been thinking a lot about the vigilante over the last ten days. The situation had its parallels. A dead body with another person's face, Dead Jason Todd wearing the mask of Red Hood. Maybe it was a jab at Red Hood? Someone who knew the vigilante's secret?

No. Tim was seeing connections where there were none. Red Hood was on his mind and he was seeing him everywhere. He looked over at Dick again. If Red Hood was Jason Todd he would know. Dick had been Todd's partner. A mask doesn't hid familiarity. Todd couldn't change habitual movements of his body there would things that would strike Dick as familiar. He mentally sighed. He had to move away from this. Either forget it or solve it.

Tim wasn't the type to forget things though.

A flash of red caught his attention.

"What's that?" He pointed at Dick's chest. Dick looked down briefly.

"What? The necklace?" Tim got a better glance. It was a clay red bird… although it looked more like a bat. It looked like it had been broken and glued back together. Hanging beside it was a better constructed blue bird.

"Uh… sorry thought it was ink or something—" Seriously he was seeing red wherever he looked—

"Jason always had this stupid nickname for me," Dick explained. He tucked the necklace back under his shirt and signaled for a left turn. Tim stiffened, "'Dickie-bird.' In retaliation I called him 'Jaybird.'"

"Oh."

"Damian made them for us for… uh," He looked a bit embarrassed, "Father's day last year. I think he was making a joke rather than being sweet, but I always wear it on the job. Sometimes I need reminding what I'm doing all this for."

"_Damian_ made them?"

Dick was amused by his disbelief.

"He said, and I quote:" Dick took on a high pitched haughty impression of his younger brother, "'I was forced by the teacher to express some sort of gratitude towards my father. I patiently explained to Helena'—he calls his teacher Helena, he refuses to call her Ms. Bertinelli—'I am not under the care of my father, nor would it make sense to give him a gift of gratitude. She told me I could do it for my mother—hah—or an aunt or uncle. I told her I'd rather not. She said I would be graded on it, so here. I had some left over so I made one for your boyfriend as well.' Such a little brat…" Dick said with amused affection, but his humour darkened, "I found _his_ in the rubble. I wear his to… well, to remember what can be lost."

Tim wished he had never brought it up. Dick had a sad wistful look on his face. Again he was tempted to tell him his theory about who the Red Hood really is, but before he could open his mouth Dick pulled his car to a stop. They were parked out front of the Iceberg Lounge and Dick had gone back to eager, following the tail of a case.

* * *

"Wah! If it isn't my good _friend_. How _are_ you Officer Grayson?"

"It's been Detective for years Pengy."

"And who's this? Your kid brother?"

"This is my partner _Detective_ Drake." Tim flashed his shield. "Tim, this is Oswald Cobblepot, the proprietor of this _fine_ establishment."

Fine was would have definitely been a suitable description. The Iceberg lounge was huge and reeked of class, but Tim, who had been dragged to enough places like this in his youth, could tell cubic zirconium posing as diamonds. This place was trying to be something it wasn't. Selling it expensive for people who didn't know better.

Cobblepot shook his hand. "Pleasure to meet you young man. Your partner here and I go back quite a ways. How many years has it been now?"

Tim didn't ask how, it would disrupt the investigation, but he was curious. From what he gathered Dick had only been in Gotham two and a half years. Before that he was stationed in Bludhaven and that's where he did his training and served as an officer. Before that he was in the circus.

"Wah! Quite the trick!" Cobblepot interrupted his musings. Tim mentally winced. He had missed part of the conversation. Stupid head wound. Usually he was better at thinking and listening at the same time.

Dick nodded, "Yeah, got us fooled for a while there. I was wondering if we could get your expertise on it. I know you're a _legitimate_ business man _now_, but surely you still have an ear for gossip like this, maybe stories from some old friends?"

"Oh, no. I don't communicate with _ruffians_ anymore," Cobblepot reassured him.

"Okay," Dick shrugged. Tim looked at him in confusion. It wasn't like Dick to so easily give up. "It was worth a try. Thanks for your time Pengy—oh hey, you wouldn't mind if we looked at your ledgers, would you? I'm a whiz with numbers, maybe I can find some clerical errors that your high paid accountant mighta missed."

Cobblepot looked at him dourly, his wide aggressive smile fell right off his face. "Of course _Detective_ I could always use the help—"

"And maybe we could do it in your backrooms?" Dick interrupted with a keen interest. "Maybe you can introduce me to some of your employees?"

Cobblepot threw up his hands in disgust, "You know I do recall something about your little body problem. Something that might distract you from helping me with my books and staff."

"Oh yeah?" Dick perked up like he wasn't expecting such a boon.

"Yes," Cobblepot rolled his eyes. He gestured for them to sit down at one of the tables. "You did not hear this from me," He said firmly eyeing Dick in particular. Dick held up his hand like a boy scout. Tim mirrored the action with a grin.

"Refrain from being such a smug little shit, _Richard_, or I'll go through the whole day with your insufferable presence just to spite you."

Tim's was about to protest. Dick smacked him on the shoulder to stop him, luckily it was his good shoulder.

"It's fine Tim, like Mr. Cobblepot says, we go back years. He likes to teach me manners. It's how he shows he cares."

"You're lucky I like you better than your old man. If I didn't, cop or not, I'd have you out on the street so fast—"

"Okay, okay I'm sorry," Dick held up his hands. His arrogance gave way to genuine sounding appeasement, "We promise to not let it leak that you gave us the info. You know I come to you because you're the guy to know. I wouldn't burn you, Oswald."

"Damn right you wouldn't," Cobblepot's feathers slowly unruffled. He leaned in and lowered his voice. "Ever heard of Lady Shiva?"

Dick's face tightened, "I've had the pleasure."

Cobblepot looked surprised. "Wah? And you're still alive? Not a lot of people can boast that, but then I guess your old man taught you well."

"Lady Shiva?" The name rang a bell, but he couldn't pin it.

"An assassin of the underworld," Now Cobblepot sounded like he was telling a ghost story. "The best blade for hire money can buy and I hear whispers she's in town. She's old-school. They say she's never touched a gun other than to throw it in someone's face."

"But our head has a gunshot wound," Tim pointed out.

"That's just a legend, besides your body doesn't and that's what you're really interested in," Cobblepot insisted, "The only person that I've heard of that could be clean enough to do something like this is her. She's your assassin. The Terminator likes everyone to know when it's his handiwork otherwise I'd suggest him."

"Definitely not Wilson," Dick said ominously. All that energy from this morning was gone replaced with a hard grimness. He stood up.

"Thanks for the chat Oswald." Tim got up to quickly follow. He glanced back. Cobblepot seemed in a cheerier mood. He went back to whatever he had been doing before they interrupted him. They went back out to the car silently.

"There was an interesting point Cobblepot made. It could have been two killers. One shot Spook and the other—are you okay?"

Dick was silent and it seemed like black clouds had fallen over his usual sunny disposition. His hands were jammed in his pockets and he was looking down at the pavement.

He grunted in response.

"Dick?"

Dick looked back at him, "Sorry. Lady Shiva brings up memories. So does Cobblepot for that matter."

"Yeah I was wondering about that. I thought you only came to Gotham a few years ago."

"Came back," Dick corrected, "I grew up here. Come on, let's go get a cup of Joe, I could use the caffeine."

* * *

"So you grew up here?"

"After I got adopted," Dick nodded. "I was nine when my guardian took me in. He's a cop too. I'd tell you more about him, but he doesn't like to be talked about," Dick rolled his eyes. "That's how I know guys like Cobblepot."

"He let you come with him on his beat?" Tim was mildly appalled.

"Um, no. Let would be a strong word for it, at least in the beginning. He was an undercover cop. I would sneak after him to see where he went. Bad places, lots of scum of the earth types. You have to understand I was used to my own freedom and independence. I was fairly savvy and had a nose for crooked people. It was stupid. Now that I have Damian I realize how freaked out he must have been whenever he caught me. People got used to 'his little sidekick' trailing after him. Matches and Robin."

"IAD must have had a field day."

"Never caught us, besides it wasn't his fault, he could stop me so the only thing he could do was protect me. I was doing it of my own volition. A grieving kid acting out. If he went away for days on end on a job I would go out looking for him. It's kind of surprising I lasted this long."

"That's where you met Lady Shiva?"

"Yeah, nicer than you'd think."

"Nicer?"

"Left me and him alive. That's what I'd call nice."

Dick stirred his coffee. He was looking out the window. Tim almost wanted to think that Dick wasn't telling him everything, but he had seen Dick lie before. Dick's lies were air tight and Tim hadn't known him long enough to see through them. If Dick was lying Tim wouldn't be suspicious at all. He had no tells. He lied with the most honest expression on his face. It came in handy for the work. Tim wondered where he had learned. Probably from his adoptive dad. Hearing about the guy, he seemed … surprisingly crooked. Then again it wasn't that surprising. What type of man let's his kid follow him to the scum joints of Gotham long enough for the kid to get a nickname? What kind of father takes no responsibility for his biological son and places that burden on Dick who barely makes enough money to support the two of them?

"So she exists?"

"Yeah and it's news if she's in town."

"She doesn't really seem like a… police thing though."

"Hm?"

"More like a Fed thing."

"Ah…" Dick took a sip of coffee and leaned back, "By the time the Feds get here she'll be gone, besides I'd like to see you go to the Captain and say you want to bring the Feds in."

"…No thanks."

In fact Tim had decided after asking about the leak beside his desk he would never ask anything from Bruce Wayne again. Gah, just thinking about it…

"So you think she's gone then?"

"I think she's completely unrelated to the case," Dick sighed.

"Why do you say that?"

"Penguin implied she's in town _now_ he never said anything about a month ago. "He fed us something interesting to make us go away. Going after her probably benefits him somehow. We'll let the captain know, but if it's Lady Shiva it's doubtful we'll even find the body, headless or otherwise."

"Damn," Tim leaned back. "Then our case goes cold again."

"Yeah… well… it was worth a shot anyway. If Penguin doesn't know then it's unlikely anyone else does. We can still follow up."

* * *

They had dinner that night as they had many times before. Alfred wasn't there. He was going to the theatre with a certain Dr. Thompkins, a lady friend if Dick's doting was anything to go by. Damian was taking up the couch with what looked to be the pieces of three bicycles and a motorboat motor. Tim was obviously a masochist. He shouldn't be so okay with suffering through another of Dick's concoctions. Dick was right, the only one that seemed to like his food was Damian. Yes, Damian complained, but he would clean his plate when Dick was cooking whereas if Alfred (or, God forbid) Tim put in an effort he would eat as much as he needed to 'fuel himself,' according to him. Tim got the unsettling feeling that Damian actually really enjoyed what Dick put in front of him. It was sort of a terrifying thought.

The only upside was that Dick didn't ruin the food when he was making his weird food. Simple spaghetti? Blackened. Mac and cheese? Watery and gross. Crocky Crunch cheese sandwiches? Strangely edible.

He was making a sweet potato peanut butter soup, which wouldn't be bad, Tim had had stuff like that before in nice restaurants. The problem was Dick using Nutella instead of peanut butter and purple yam instead of sweet potato.

"Out of peanut butter," He explained stirring the soup with enthusiasm. Every so often Damian would sniff at the air like a stray kitten smelling tuna. He wouldn't say anything, but had a slightly less waspish expression that Tim had learned was his pleased look. God those two were made for each other…

"Ugh, that head still bugs me," Dick grumbled.

Tim was about to say something about young ears in the room, but Damian interrupted him.

"I know," He said bluntly as if he had heard Dick's lament a million times before. "Either solve the case or move the hell on, I'm tired of listening to you whine."

Dick turned away from the stove frowning. Damian was already back to leaning over the contraption he was working on.

"I don't know why you're so short with me about this. You usually love to help."

Damian's eye roll went unseen, but was obvious coupled with his, "Love is a strong word, more like, hoping you'll shut up if I point you in the right direction."

Dick laughed off the boy's comment and went back to stirring soup, "Oh please. Your answer usually involves ninjas and super-spies."

"Well it could be," The boy grumbled. "You've seen the crap that goes on in this city."

"Actually Timmy and me have made some _head_ way."

Tim groaned at the awful pun.

Dick wasn't looking, but Tim was. Damian _tensed_.

"Oh?" Damian growled. He had turned towards Dick again leaning over the couch. His sharp blue eyes were intent now. "Leading anywhere?"

"Yeah," Dick shrugged. "Tim pointed out maybe the body was a warning or message or something—and that there might be two killers, not just one. It's a good theory."

"How stupid," The boy _relaxed_, then he glared at Tim as if remembering the other man was in the room disturbing his and his older brother's usual domestic harmony. "What a dumb idea."

"There are more things on heaven and earth, Horatio," Dick hummed.

"I heard Red Hood knocked you around," The little brat hissed at him.

_He's changing the subject…_

"I wouldn't say knocked around," Tim rolled with it. As interesting as Damian's reactions were any information on Red Hood was of notice.

"Where'd you here that?" Now Dick was the one who was tense.

"You get put on cold cases and bitchy and Drake's out for ten days? I am my father's son, Grayson."

"Or rather you spoke with B-your dad and he told you." Apparently Dick thought little of the child's detective skills.

"Maybe," Damian admitted sourly.

"Well…it's good you two are talking at least," Dick seemed hassled now. He let his concoction gently bubble and took a seat at the table leaning his head on his hand in agitation.

Tim kept awkwardly silent because he wanted to know more, but knew it wasn't his place to ask.

"Hah, talking," Damian spat. "He only called to tell me about that. Like I care." Damian deepened his voice in a way that reminded Tim of the Captain, 'Be good to him, you know Red Hood brings bad memories,' hah. Whatever."

"Agreed," Dick was definitely annoyed at their father's intrusion. "What'd you say?"

"I said if your _partner_ can't watch your back you should get a new partner."

"Dami—"

"So I guess your Dad keeps in touch?" Tim interrupted because he couldn't stop himself and he still had a brain injury and ignoring Damian's barbs were the best way to handle them.

"We talk," Dick said shortly.

"He talks at us," Damian corrected with a disgusted snort.

"Does he still work undercover?"

Damian seemed surprised by the question he looked over at his brother, "You told him about that?"

"Saw Penguin today, it came up," Dick shrugged. Damian looked between the two of them like he was noticing something for the first time. He suddenly stood up rigidly not liking what he saw. He seemed angrier than he had at any other point in the conversation. He jumped over the back of the couch his little chest puffed out.

"You are **not** allowed to sleep with him," He said pointing angrily at Tim. "No fucking way."

"Damian! Excuse me Tim, me and my little brother are going to go for walk to the bakery to get some bread to go with the soup, could you watch it while I'm gone?"

Dick grabbed his little brother by the shoulder barely giving the kid enough time to slip his shoes on. The door slammed and a high pitched voice started yelling over a deeper more even toned one.

What the… hell?

Tim really wished he knew if Damian was talking to him or if he were talking to Dick during his outburst. If he was talking to his older brother then… maybe Dick also had feelings for him…

* * *

Notes: Sweet potato peanut butter soup is delicious, don't let anyone tell you different. (And if you're allergic to peanuts Almond butter works just as well) Just don't eat it if it was made by Dick... I think the concoction he was making would have tasted like chocolate cake soup with vegetables in it... ugh... that's not healthy Dick.


	5. Memories

"Damian!" Grayson was angry. Angry in the way a parent might be irritated at their child for causing a scene at the supermarket. Damian resented that. He was looking out for Grayson's best interest. He was trying to protect him, but Grayson was looking at him like he was a whining brat.

"Do you not see what's happening? Really?!" He wasn't shouting anymore, but he was still furious at the whole situation. He remembered Todd. Remembered how the redhead would show up with frequency disturbing dinner, worming his way in, upsetting the balance of their household. Damian hadn't noticed it with Todd though. Todd had grown on Damian as well. He had become status quo, acceptable. Grayson had never taken Todd as a lover (as far as he was aware), but they had come close to it. Very close. Now with Drake: the same pattern, the same interrupted dinners, the same longing gazes on the side of Drake and the same dopey smiles on Grayson's.

"Do you really not?" Damian repeated.

Grayson exhaled slowly letting his anger leave with his breath. They were on the street outside the bakery. As usual Grayson willed his own temper away, even though Damian knew he pushed his guardian to the limits.

"What do you want from me, Damian?" Grayson asked softly. He was trying to be a parent again. He was trying so hard. Damian knew he was, and loved him for it (despite evidence to the contrary), but it didn't stop him from being blunt.

"Don't let him fuck you."

Grayson snorted in exasperation, "Do I really have to remind you that you're ten-years-old and about appropriate language?"

"You don't," Damian said through gritted teeth. "So stop avoiding the conversation."

Grayson crossed his arms and leaned against the brick wall of the bakery. "What's so bad about Tim?"

"A lot of things," Damian grumbled. Drake had to be one of the most irritating people he had ever had the displeasure of meeting and he had _been_ places. He rubbed him the wrong way and the fact that Grayson was becoming so close to him was the worst possible outcome of this partnership. "But that's not why I'm so strenuously suggesting that you keep your distance."

Grayson raised his eyebrow. Disbelief.

"Alright, it's only partially because of that," Damian allowed.

Grayson was silent, waiting for an explanation. At least he would allow him that.

"He'll ruin everything," Damian blurted, it was all encompassing, and it was true.

Because Tim Drake watched. He sat quietly, a smug little smile on his face and noticed everything. He processed every twitch, every frown, every raised eyebrow or tensed muscle.

"Damian, I don't want to—"

"It does make me uncomfortable," Damian cut him off. "He's always looking, always watching. He'll see everything."

"I know," Grayson admitted.

"Are you in love with him?" Damian finally asked, fearing the answer.

"Not yet." Dick sighed down at him.

"Not yet?"

Dick crouched down so they were at eye level.

"Damian… you know with Jason—"

"He betrayed us."

"Yeah," He looked hurt. "Yeah, he did, but Tim's not Jason."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do. There was no one like Jason… just like there's no one like Tim. Damian… no matter what develops, Tim and I work together. That's not going to change—"

"You don't need him."

The only people Grayson needed were Damian, Pennyworth and Father.

"Damian, you know I care about you."

Damian stiffened, "And I couldn't care less." He lied.

Grayson gave him a pained smile, "I'm lonely," He admitted softly.

Damian froze. He didn't know if he felt angry or ashamed. He latched on to anger.

"What? So you're going to let your pathetic neediness throw our family into chaos _again_?"

Grayson was fuming. His whole body was tense. His mouth was a straight, tight line. "Either you care about our 'family' or you don't."

Damian was almost speechless. He glared up furiously at Grayson. It felt like he had struck him across the face.

"So, what? You'd pick a man you barely know?"

Grayson was frustrated, "No Damian! No I wouldn't! You're the most important thing in my life right now. I would never pick anyone over you. You're my responsibility and my little brother and I love you. I'm just pointing out that you don't seem to give me the same amount of thought or care." Grayson's rant didn't last, he quickly calmed, his face went back to neutral, "But you don't have to."

Damian realized he had let his mask slip. He had shown Grayson something; maybe shock or guilt, and Grayson had caught on and felt remorseful.

"You don't have to love me back, you don't have to make allowances for me. I'm the adult, not you."

Damian felt his guilt well and the shame hit him hard again. Grayson had been nothing but kind, but he couldn't show him the same courtesy.

If it was anyone but Drake. Anyone.

"You miss Todd," Damian grumbled reluctantly. He looked away from Grayson's face.

"Yeah, but you don't need to worry—"

"You know you don't need to do that. You don't have to dumb it down or hide it from me. I do understand Grayson. I do understand you have few people left. You left a lot of friends and relationships back in Bludhaven for the sake of Father… and myself, and I also understand you're an adult with… urges. I understand that you're lonely."

Grayson looked honestly surprised.

"-Tt- …I do care," He said under his breath. Grayson heard him. He was about to say something, but Damian cut him off. "You're insufferable when you're gloomy. I'd rather see you happy."

"Dami—" Grayson was moved, but Damian really didn't want to hear him right now. "So be happy, be happy with anyone but Drake. He'll tear us all apart. He'll see everything. He might spare you out of love or his own greed, but he won't spare Father and he certainly won't spare me. Todd…" Damian's nails dug into his palm. The thought of what Todd did still made him angry. "He might have understood us. Drake never will."

The Bakery's lights suddenly darkened. Grayson turned in surprise. They had been standing outside for an hour. Drake had probably ruined what could have been a delicious soup. What a shitty night.

"I'm making you choose," Damian clarified. Dick turned back to face him shoulder's slumped. Grayson ran his hand through his hair in mild frustration. It was his: I'm-in-over-my-head-with-this-kid-look.

"You're not being realistic. You can't make me choose Damian."

"I can," Damian said with certainty, "Because you aren't in love with him yet, but I know you love me, and even though I'm not a 'good' person you'd give me the moon if I asked. I'm asking you not to fall in love with him."

Even though he didn't deserve that love and probably never would he would still openly manipulate Grayson with it if it meant saving him.

"That's not very fair," Grayson said softly, "You rigged it."

"Let's be fair," He threw back. "You made it easy."

Because Grayson really would do anything for him. Grayson knew there was something happening with Damian, but he didn't dig. He trusted Damian—Damian, Father and Alfred were the only ones he trusted fully anymore. Todd had taught him a valuable, but painful lesson.

They were in a good place, a safe place. The sting of Todd's death had lessened and Grayson smiled like he used to. Damian no longer had to live in fear of leaving. He would stay. He could have this simpler happier life with Grayson, but Drake…

Drake would destroy their balance.

Drake was a man that would never stop searching and uncovering secrets. Grayson couldn't fall in love with a man so doomed in a place like Old Town where secrets were the only thing holding it up anymore.

Grayson had that drive as well, but he also had mercy attached to it. He let things slide. He would go further. To make sure that a mother who killed her husband in self defense would get to keep her children, would not go to jail. He would let people in shitty situations go. He knew Old Town, he knew people and, when he could, he helped the good ones.

The one that had messed him up was Todd. Jason fucking Todd. Damian had watched the entire relationship unfold from the moment they moved from Bludhaven to Gotham.

_At first Grayson would come home annoyed. He complained about his new partner. How Todd was impulsive, how he was rough when he didn't need to be. _

_"Do you know how many times he's told me: 'I lived on these streets, I know the way you have to treat the scum'? I'm going to light his flaming red hair on fire if he says it again. Just because you 'lived on the streets' doesn't mean you are the foremost authority on how to treat people." _

_Damian gave Grayson little sympathy as was his nature, but he grew to detest Todd by proxy for causing undue stress for his brother. _

_When Grayson had brought Todd for dinner one night Damian was surprised. From Grayson's long rants and monologues the previous weeks there was no indication that things had warmed between the two. _

_Turns out his investigation skills weren't that bad._

_"You have a brat?" Todd (Damian identified him by his red hair and instant insulting attitude) seemed surprised. _

_"Funny, I was about to say the same thing," Damian said dourly. Jason snickered. He made his way to the couch and shoved Damian's current project to one side with no thought to the delicate pieces. "Cute." _

_"Long day," Grayson grumbled to Damian. He was in a bad mood, he wasn't alone. "I'll explain later. Jason, this is my little brother Damian, Damian, this is Jason Todd, my partner."_

_Damian snorted derisively. _

_"I can see the family resemblance. The bitchiness starts at a really young age in your family, huh?" Jason rolled his eyes. Grayson, __**Richard**__ Grayson had a murderous look on his face. The evil powers of this man were unfathomable. _

_"Sorry, sorry," Jason held up his hands reading the atmosphere of the room, "Hard to turn off the street charm." _

_Grayson openly rolled his eyes at Todd. _

_"Yeah, yeah," Todd said rolling his own eyes at Grayson. _

_Todd and Grayson exchanged __**looks**__ with each other. Grayson, obviously miffed declared, "I'm going to make dinner."_

_He turned and went to the kitchenette._

_"So where's the woman of the house?" Todd asked. He splayed on the couch taking up as much room as possible._

_"There is no woman of the house," Damian grunted before Grayson could answer. _

_"What? So he's raising you all on his own?" Todd asked, surprised. He glanced back at Grayson who was pretending to ignore the exchange now. _

_"Raising isn't the term I'd use," Damian said bluntly. "He provides a roof and sustenance. I require nothing more from him." _

_He heard a loud sigh from Grayson and quickly looked over. Grayson was hunched over a pot, his shoulder slumped. It was Damian's usual response to questions of the nature of Grayson and his relationship. Grayson usually laughed it off, but maybe today had been a bad day and maybe Damian's words had just… hurt him. _

_That wasn't Damian's intention. _

_Todd looked between the two. His gaze narrowed in on Damian again, he was studying him._

_"Yeah? In my books that makes him a hero to a brat like you, so show some respect." _

_Grayson had spun around, probably about to protest Todd talking to Damian like that, but Todd kept going, "Guy like him doesn't show it, but he'd give the world to the people he loves I bet. You're one of them, so he'll act like your crap doesn't affect him, but it does." Todd's look was grim, seemed a bit angry, but underneath that there was sadness… and even kindness. Then his voice dropped so Grayson wouldn't here, "It's not like you don't totally love the guy so I don't see what your problem is, punk." Todd stood up, hands in his pockets. He looked at Grayson who was staring back looking completely confused._

_"I'm not the type for small children, Grayson. I'll let myself out, see ya tomorrow." He headed towards the door, but Grayson stopped him._

_"No," Todd's hand was on the door, "You can stay. Damian likes it when people treat him as an equal anyway." _

_Damian nodded when Todd turned back, hand still on the door. _

_"Don't be rude," Damian added, he crossed his arms, "Grayson's cooking is very edible and he's already started your portion. Don't waste our food." _

_That's not to say their relationship bloomed then and there, but it was seeded. They grew closer in the next few weeks and soon they were practically inseparable. _

_When Grayson came in that awful night looking white as a ghost, the broken clay bird in his hand Damian regretted it. He regretted he had been the catalyst that had allowed Jason Todd to enter their lives, to enter Grayson's heart. _

_"What's wrong?" He asked, because he had never seen his brother like that before. "Did you find Todd?" he didn't really want to know the answer. _

_Grayson shook his head noiselessly. He kept blinking and Damian realized he was trying to be strong for him. _

_"What's happened?" he whispered. _

_Grayson crumpled in on himself and cried. _

_And Damian stood a few feet back unable to reach out, unable to offer the comfort Grayson so easily offered him. He didn't know what to do. His own tears were sliding down his cheeks because Todd must surely be dead and Grayson must surely be broken by this fact. When Grayson was able to look up and see Damian's distress he crawled forward and pulled the boy into a hug comforting __**him**__. _

_And nothing was okay for a long time after that._

That was why he wouldn't let Grayson's distressed look move him now. His brother could think what he wanted. That Damian was a selfish awful child, that he had no care for Grayson's feelings, that he was mean and possessive. Damian didn't care as long as Grayson was never broken like that again.

And maybe if it was only his Father and Damian that suffered for Drake's curiosity Damian would allow Grayson to find love in that man's arms.

But Timothy Drake would break him too. Damian couldn't abide by that.

_I would give him everything I have. Everything. Except him. I won't sacrifice his wellbeing for the sake of his happiness. I'm too selfish._

He started walking back towards their apartment. He heard Grayson's heavy footsteps following. He wondered what Grayson would do. He knew he wouldn't just ignore his ultimatum.

"This is a pretty shitty move Damian. You're ten, genius or not you can't possibly understand—"

Damian's wince was hopefully covered by darkness.

"I don't care," he made his voice as grave and unyielding as possible. "I don't care at all."

* * *

_Is she trying to make me feel better or torture me into action?_ Jason really didn't know. The audio file was clear as crystal. He perched next to a gargoyle waiting for an exchange to go down. Kory's surveillance buzzed in his ear.

He'd give Damian a kiss if he didn't know how much it was killing Dick to hear his little brother talk like that.

His fingers twitched for a cigarette. He was the figurative Cat, but still no sign of the rats he was chasing.

The problem was Damian knew the power he wielded when it came to Dick. Jason had told him repeatedly how much the kid affected his older brother, but he wasn't so effective on the other side of things. Damian adored Dick. Loved him absolutely, but Dick didn't know that. Dick was never clear on where he stood with Damian. He knew the kid tolerated him, was even fond of him on a good day, but he didn't realize one word and the brat would kill for him, another and he would show mercy for his greatest enemy. All Dick had to do was ask. Thing was Dick never would. He'd never ask his family to sacrifice something on his behalf. Damian knew that.

It was the perfect paradox really. Dick would give his heart and soul for his family, Damian in particular, but all Damian wanted was his big brother whole. Damian would give Dick anything as long as it didn't end in Dick being hurt and he'd do anything to protect him.

Damian saw Drake as a threat to his brother, Damian would use everything he had, even Dick's heart against the outcome of love.

Kid really was a genius. An evil one at that.

Then again, was he any different? Dick had fallen in love with Jason, and he fell in love with Dick. Dick would have wanted Jason and him together no matter what. Jason would rather have Dick alive and alone than dead. In the end he had insured that would be the case. Jason Todd died and Dick was alone.

He died… you do your time for a shitty pension and a sense of some fucked up sort of justice and what do you get? Six feet under cold dirt. Jason was as close as anyone could get to crooked in Old Town, at least that's what he felt at the time. He didn't rip off the gangsters and crooks to line his pocket to make up for his crappy pension like other cops in the rest of Gotham did. He did it to keep them in line. Jason learned early in life that if you want power you have to be the biggest, nastiest dog on the block.

There was no doubt Jason was a vicious dog. It put a target on his back, but he didn't have a family to lose. The closest thing to a father he had was Bruce Wayne and his brothers in blue. Old Town was always under budget and understaffed. He road alone until the reprimand. Hints that he was dirty, but not enough proof for suspension or dismissal. The new guy, Bludhaven's Golden Boy was put with him. Wayne claimed it was to get Grayson familiar with the area. Jason knew it was to keep him in line. All it did was get him sneakier.

But things changed. Being Grayson's partner meant being his friend. Being his friend meant meeting his family: a little brat and an old gentleman. Without realizing it Jason suddenly had a family.  
Rather than making him back off, it fueled his rage. For them he'd wipe out the gutter scum, he'd fight dirty.

Red Hood was a bit of Robin Hood a bit of he started out in a ratty red hoodie and domino mask. It evolved to a red motorcycle helmet and then a custom made helmet. The name stuck despite him ditching the hoodie.

The mission of killing criminals and protecting Dick Grayson's nest gelled.

Red Hood put fear into the scum of Old Town. He protected Jason Todd and his makeshift family.

Then the Joker, then the warehouse, and suddenly Jason Todd is dead.

And wasn't that shit? Wasn't that unfair? Jason Todd had to die because Gotham needed people like Red Hood. Gotham didn't need reformed badasses with happy little families. Gotham didn't need cops. It needed Red Hood, it needed an outlaw to save them.

But having an in with the cops was handy, and sometimes he needed help and information on the legal side of things—and he wanted to protect the nest still, despite everything. Dick Grayson was a natural replacement.

The first meeting didn't go that well.

_"Hey there Bluebird." The nickname was a quick substitute. He had always called him 'Dickie-Bird.' But now it was Bluebird, Bluebird because he looked so sad. _

_Dick turned in surprise. As soon as he saw the red helmet he pulled his gun. _

_"FREEZE! Hands where I can see them!" _

_He complied because he was partly amused and partly shocked. He was on top of a seven foot wall so he was pretty sure he could escape. _

_"Nice way to greet someone Grayson. Todd said you were sweeter." _

_Pure anger._

_"Don't you dare talk about him! Don't act like you were his friend. You got him killed!" _

_Well, couldn't really argue with that._

_"Todd knew what he was getting into. If you want to blame anyone blame Bruce Wayne for not sending backup in time." _

_"Get off the wall," Dick repeated angrily, he didn't lower his gun an inch. _

_"He was helping me clean up the place. He knew he might end up dead, but Jason got in too deep. You were his partner. You must have known he wasn't entirely clean." _

_"Don't you __**dare**__ dishonour his name. He toed the line, but he was never dirty." _

_Jason would be touched if it wasn't so annoying._

_"Now get off the wall," Dick growled._

_"Sorry Bluebird, we'll talk later, okay?" _

_He fell back to the opposite side and started running. That really could have gone better… _

_And it was about to get worse. Dick scaled the wall and took off after him._

_Acrobat, fucking acrobat!_

_His parkour wasn't much up against the renowned acrobatics of Mary and John's baby boy. Luckily for Jason he knew the alleys and roof tops better. Dick was used to having his feet on the ground. _

_He'd have to ease into this…_

_The second meeting went better in that Jason decided calling by payphone in midtown might take out complicated things like guns and rooftops. _

_"Yes?" It was the brat. _

_"Is Officer Grayson there?" He took on and English accent. It was the only one he could pull off with any competence. _

_"Who's asking?" Brusque as usual. _

_"This is Marty, it's about overtime he logged. Just a paperwork thing, but if he's there it would really clear things up." _

_Silence, then in the background, "It's for you. Work." _

_"Hello?"_

_"This is Red Hood, don't hang up—and don't bother texting Old Town for a trace, I'm on a pay phone and there's no bacon that could actually take me down for miles." Midtown cops were pussies. He heard quick footsteps and then-_

_"Turn yourself in. It'll look better than us catching you to the D.A." _

_"You know what'll happen if I do that. The power vacuum, the killing and let's face it, me on the street dealers don't sell to kids, Pimps don't break their hookers and bangers kill other bangers, not civilians."_

_"Who are you?"_

_"Right now? I'm the only friend you got." Jason said, "Just listen okay? You can swear to hunt me down and avenge Todd's death later." _

_Dick was silent, but didn't hang up. Then—_

_"Will you tell me what happened to Jason?" _

_Damn it Dickie-bird, why can't you just leave it alone?_

_"No. I'll spare you that. I'll let you keep looking at him as a hero if it's all the same to you. He knew what he was doing and if you help me I will never drag you that far. Jason wouldn't want you hurt and I know you have a kid." _

_Silence. _

_"Will you listen?"_

_"…I want you to tell me who did it."_

_"Who did what?"_

_"Who killed him."_

_Shit._

_"Listen Bluebird, I'm working on that, you don't need to worry your pretty little head about it."_

_"Don't patronize me. They killed a cop, they killed my __**friend**__. A guy who would babysit at the last moment, who connected with my little brother who doesn't connect with anyone, who traded recipes with the man I look at as a Grandfather even though it tarnished his bad boy rep by hanging out with an old man. Jason wasn't just a cop. It wasn't all just crime and cleaning up the streets. It wasn't all just __**your**__ goddamn mission. He was important to me and mine so don't you __**fucking**__ patronise me." _

_Jason recoiled a little. Damn. He really did feel that way about Jason Todd, huh?_

_"I'm sorry, I know it doesn't make it any better, but you and your family were as important to him as he was to you and I'm not saying this to make you feel guilty or make you feel like you need to help me, but a lot of the stuff he did he did for your sake, you and the kid. I'm going to find out who killed him and when I do I won't tell you because murder wouldn't suit you and Jason wouldn't want your hands bloody because of him. I'll take care of it." _

_"Jason would probably want to be avenged," And now Dick sounded tired, like he had fallen onto the couch in the living room—but no, he was probably in his bedroom so Damian wouldn't hear. "He would want his killers dead, but—" _

_Jason didn't have the angst to feel angry at what Dick was about to say. "You want them brought to legal justice. You don't want to do it bloody." _

_"I do want to do it bloody," Dick contradicted angrily, "The fact that the man who killed Jason is out there breathing air, free, the same air that I'm breathing, the same air that Damian is breathing is unacceptable. But I've seen what revenge does and what it doesn't do. Revenge destroys lives and it doesn't bring back the dead."_

_"Dig two graves," The words echoed in his head. Words his friend had repeated to him time and time again. Did he ever listen? _

_No, he never did. _

_"One for your enemy and one for yourself, yeah."_

_"This was a mistake."_

_"Wait!"_

_Jason paused. It had gotten emotional way too quickly. Commiserating over Jason Todd was gruesome and hearing how Dick was feeling about it even worse. What was he thinking dragging Grayson into this? Hadn't he done enough?_

_"You still there?"_

_"Yeah," Jason answered reluctantly._

_"I also know what happens when there's no closure." He wondered what that meant. Dick's parents' murderer was caught, got jail time, was still IN jail. Guess he was talking about someone else. "I want to know if you—I mean it's admitting to a crime but—"_

_"I'll tell you," Jason promised._

_"He trusted you didn't he?" _

_Dick was being careful, but he was being sucked in. Red Hood was a link to Jason and Jason was well aware not a lot of people knew the real Jason Todd. There wasn't a lot of people for Dick to talk to about him. Even though Dick hated Red Hood… he would probably still tolerate him for those precious bits of information._

_"Yeah, he trusted me." Hang up. Hang up right now. This was a bad idea. _

_"I won't let you kill people. You want to be a vigilante? Be Superman. No killing. Scare them, threaten them, hell, beat them if they deserve it bad enough, but if you kill them or if anyone __**else**__ dies because of you I will hunt you down." _

_Hang up right now!_

_"Like I said, I'm a friend I'm here to help, but I won't change my methods, not when they're working. Not even for you." _

_He quickly hung up._

Red Hood sighed, but before he could become melancholy his rats showed up. He pulled his guns.

Oh look, the perfect gift for the Cat to leave his Bluebird.


End file.
